Tick Tock
by Reincarnated
Summary: The word heartbreak is used too often. People forget what it really is.


Tick, tick, tick, tock. Tick...tick.

A steady clicking measured time, breaking the silence of the early morning hours. Nothing moved. Nothing spoke. The air stood still, quiet, unmoving. A shadowed rocking chair swayed in a corner of the room where a man sat facing the window, quietly watching graceful particles of snow drift silently from the great black sky to join with others; creating intricate patterns as they joined up again and again with another, and another. And as he rocked, back and forth, back and forth, back...and forth, the man forsook the raging battle that pounded inside his mind. The room grew darker and darker still...and it seemed to him that even the candlelight neglected it's frequent flicker because everything was slowing, slowing, stopping.

Tick, tick, tock.

Even when you've had enough, time never stops. The clock is always ticking, and when it stops: **so do you. **

Her clock had stopped ticking.

Her heart had quit beating.

She was gone, but the days moved on.

The world kept turning and nothing seemed changed. The house still looked the same as it had when he'd held her in his arms, her last breath still lingering in her slowing lungs. The same paintings hung on the walls. The same pictures stood on tables. It haunted him. It was a realization that stalked the back of his mind, lurking and watching. Waiting to pounce on him and wreck his concentration. Again. Again...and again.

A shadow in the window, she'd raised a hand to her heart. Something was wrong.

His heart skipped a beat. Fear and disbelief rushed through his mind, making him dizzy and sick. Only one thought found it's way through the sudden tumult in his mind.

No.

And then again, and again. _No, no, no no no!_

The darkness all around him seemed to grow even more so, the snow gracefully faded until all he could see was the scene behind the window, the most beautiful woman he had ever known, a dark silhouette against the orange light of a lamp. The lamp he'd bought her for the anniversary of the day they'd met. Her lamp.

Another figure had faded into the the room. A second shadow, cloaked in billowing robes. He didn't flinch...he didn't hesitate...he simply raised his scythe...and let it fall with a swift, silent movement.

And she fell.

_The bell rang and pierced the calm, school atmosphere. The room began to empty. The professor began to prepare his next lecture._

_He had promised himself he would do it today. _

_She swung her dragonskin bag over her shoulder, her long brown curls bounced._

_Her sparkling brown eyes flicked up in his direction, and she turned around to leave. She was leaving! _

"_Uh, hey!" Hey? Lame. He felt his face break out in prickly, uncomfortable heat. He suddenly felt very, very sick to his stomach._

Down.

_She turned around uncertainly at the doorway, her bright, lovely face was flushed. "Yes?"_

_The heat grew worse. His ears burned, his fingers turned to ice. "Will you...I mean to say-could you-or,uh, well do you want to-" He stopped. His tongue had turned to lead. What was he doing here? This was stupid. He shouldn't be doing this. He was only making a fool out of himself. He let out his breath, suddenly aware that he'd been holding it; then turned around and brushed past her._

Down.

_He was just coming to terms with the reality that he had forever lost the chance to ever speak to her again, when he heard her voice. _

"_Ron!" She said._

_His heart sank, mortified. She was going to rub it in. He stopped walking, but couldn't make himself face her. He said nothing._

"_Will you come with me to the dance Friday night?"_

Down.

_They'd been inseparable ever since. _

_Even when they learned she had six more months to live. He'd thought he'd seen Death that night, too...that scythe glittering wickedly in the corner of the quiet hospital room._

_He'd made a vow never to let it get her; but he'd already failed. He thought his heart had stopped, and he stared without seeing as an angry roar raised in his head and the world began to feel heavy beneath his feet. He knew he was falling...but his eyes disagreed with him._

_You_ _failed her, she's gone. _

_Can't save her—gone._

_Gone._

_Gone._

_A fierce defiance flooded his veins. She couldn't be gone! He wouldn't_ _fail her._

Then he was violently crashing through the front door and pounding down the hallways...but his ears would not work. He didn't hear himself yelling her name, couldn't feel his breaking heart. Dashing into the apartment he found her, already fallen.

Falling to the floor beside her, gathering her up in his arms.

Her flesh was clammy. She felt too cold. Looking into her eyes he watched, horrified as they did not look back. His sobs could not numb his torment as he watched her there, knowing she was there, unable to grasp where else she could have gone, but knowing, too, that she was not there...his heart ached the way he could not remember it aching. It was not possible to feel so much anguish...he thought he would die too, and then hoped he would; wished he would, wanted it so badly...wanted her not to be gone...

Mangled words escaped his throat. "Mione...Mione...no...don't..._don't g_o..." But his pleas were scarcely heard through the mad laughter of Death ... the cold, crazed laughter of the ending that comes to all of us, but to her, all too soon.

It was over. Never again would he hear her laugh. Never again would he hold her close. She was gone. Warm, fat tears fell from his eyes, forlorn, heartbroken, and lost. He had lost her. .

"I love you." He whispered, his lips to her cold, white face. "I _love_ you! _Why isn't it enough_? Why don't you come back?"

He cried softer then. His shoulders shook, his eyes squeezed shut. He held her tightly, the way he had the night she'd rushed onto the quiddich field to congratulate him after winning the final match.

"I love you." He wished he had told her that more often. He wished he had run a little faster.

But he hadn't, and now a stone sat in silence somewhere out there tonight, cold, and wrapped in darkness; marking the life of a bright young woman who'd had so much ahead of her. This symbol embedded in the icy ground set everything in stone. It meant she was never coming back.

The candle flickered. The house creaked. The rocking chair squeaked, back and forth, back and forth, back...and forth... and time moved on though his heart dared not. Time would always move on. Those six months had come...and gone. The days after her death came, despite the fact that he knew they shouldn't. After all, the whole world had been thrown off balance. A hole had been ripped in the universe somewhere, and the world should have stopped. But it didn't. Reasoning with the world never works.

The word heartbreak is used too often. People forget what it really is. But he knew. After she left the earth, his heart never healed. That night, as he rocked in the chair that still smelled of her, his tears fell gently like warm glistening beads from his tired gray eyes, leaving cold, shining paths in their wake. His heart ached. His throat strained.

He wished she could come back.


End file.
